Church

The Sunday before I left for Togo, I had a number of church family members ask me if I was excited for my trip. I remember having the realization at that point that in one week exactly, I would be in African church. That thought made me excited.

However, due to jetlag on my first Sunday here, and then an unfortunate incident the next week with either the dirt-covered fanmilk bag I had to suck on to enjoy my delicious ice-creamy treat, or the fanmilk itself, I missed African church my first two weeks here. This made today my first Togolese service. As I explained to a friend this morning at breakfast, the three most important criteria for African church are as follows:

a) Not so hot that you require IV fluids to rehydrate in the afternoon – if oral fluids will do, you have chosen the right place (being hot is a given – so “cool” would be an unrealistic criterion)
b) Less than 4 hours (again – it’s going to be long…..also a given)
c) English translation that is actually English

Miraculously, God granted me all three wishes this morning. We had the opportunity to worship at a church that was planted by fellow Mercy Shippers in 1995 in a small fishing village, about 15 minutes from the port that we call home. And, it was everything I could have ever dreamed of.

As I should have been expecting, all the Mercy Shippers were called up to the front to introduce ourselves and say where we were from. We were taught the "official" Togolese national dance (I had already been taught the Togolese national dance – during translator orientation, so I was sort of a pro….except for the fact that while doing the Togolese national dance, one looks quite similar to a chicken and it is hard to look much like a pro while dancing like a chicken).

During the sermon, the congregation spontaneously raised a beautiful song that I knew very well from my time in Liberia. As we all sang “Do something new in my life, oh God”, I couldn’t help but think about the fact that this outreach isn’t just simply “another trip to Africa”, a Liberian reunion, or a checkmark off my bucket list, but that God has unique plans of what he wants to do in me and through me for this season.

But the incident that trumped them all occurred after the service was over. I read somewhere once that “inside the heart of every North American lies an innate desire to box up their old winter jackets and send them to Africa". That always made me laugh – mostly because I think it reflects the way most of us think of Africa. Desolate. Desperate. Lacking. And the reality is that my experience of Africa has been none of those things. But this morning, I got to see the effects of what happens when people really do box up their things and send them to Africa. In this case, the "people" were from a church in Tenerife, and the "things" were brand new toys and clothes. And the outcome was so great to experience.

Because, as much praise as I give to my African brothers and sisters for their spiritual, emotional, relational, and cultural wealth, they often lack the finances for new clothes and toys for their babies for play with. So, to watch an entire congregation open up massive boxes of material blessings was truly an honour. Not because it necessarily changed their lives in any massively significant way, but because through those boxes of goods two very different groups of people became connected. And, if packing up our stuff and sending it to people who might be able to use it accomplishes that, then I am off to find some duck tape....